


Model Tenant

by TorrieGrayson



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 19:37:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14315727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TorrieGrayson/pseuds/TorrieGrayson
Summary: Based on the Tumblr request: "Frank is still hiding as Pete *in the same building he lived in in the first ep* the owner of the building has a daughter who has always been kind and caring of Frank & making him food, etc. but she always had scars and one day he finds out her father abuses her. He 'deals" with him and saves her or takes her away with him"





	Model Tenant

Frank tossed and turned in his sleep until the noises from the apartment above his finally woke him up. It sounded like stomping and yelling, and eventually Crying. Frank did his best to keep to himself since he had been working construction as ‘Pete Castiglione’. It was an easy task most of the time, but on nights like tonight, when he could hear what was certainly someone being abused, it was incredibly hard, especially since this seemed to be a regular thing.

The new tenant hadn’t been living in the building long before you met him. It had taken you roughly two weeks to muster up the courage to say hello. As you did with most of the tenants in the building, you knocked on his door with a container of freshly baked cookies as a peace offering.

You heard grumbling, and after a moment he opened the door. He was a big man, larger than you had anticipated. He had wild black hair and you could see his hard features peaking out from behind his beard. He looked you over. “You’re Jim’s daughter, right?” he’d asked. He was sure he’d seen you bringing in groceries and supplies with the landlord a couple times. “Can I help you with something?”

He sounded annoyed. Instinctively, you backed away. You broke eye contact, submitting and looking down at the floor. “I baked you these,” you passed him the container with uneasy hands, “as a housewarming gift.”

When he took the container from your outstretched arm he noticed the old and new bruises that marked your skin. He hesitated for a moment, then his shoulders softened. No wonder you were skittish. Someone had been using you as a punching bag recently. He wondered if it was you who he had heard crying in the apartment upstairs last night, and nearly every other night this week. He wanted to get angry, to demand to know who was mistreating you. He settled for an introduction.

“I’m Pete. You call me if you need anything.”

You looked up, still not quite meeting his gaze. “Thank you, Pete. I’m Y/N.

“You bring me food and now you’re thanking me?” he questioned. “I think you’ve got that backward sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” you said immediately and almost too loudly. You covered your mouth with your hand as tears threatened to fall.

“Hey, hey. It was a joke. Jesus, are you alright?” He couldn’t hide the concern now.

You nodded quickly, before excusing yourself and practically running to the elevator to go back up to your apartment.

He frowned, watching you go before he stepped back into his apartment. A moment later, he’d heard a door slam in the apartment above him. Just then, he’d put together that you were the one he’d heard being abused every other night.

A while later, when he’d been walking home one night, he saw you sitting on the steps in the building’s entryway. It was cold out, there was snow on the ground and the rain was getting ready to come down full force. You sat on the first landing with your arms wrapped around you. The thin doors to the outside doing a poor job at keeping the cool air out. Frank saw you leaned against the railing, crying softly. You didn’t notice him approaching.

“You trying to catch pneumonia or-?”

You yelped, your hands flying toward your face to try and hide that you had been crying. Frank let you take your time to calm down before checking if you were alright.

“I left my key in the apartment,” you explained.

“And?”

“So I can’t go in until he unlocks the door.”

Frank looked up the stairs. “He’s up there right now?”

You nodded.

He grabbed your wrist, pulling you to towards the elevator, “come on.”

You began begging, tears flowing freely now.

“No! Please, just. I’m alright.” You pulled out of his grip. “I can wait. It’s not the first time this has happened. I’m used to it.” Your heart was pounding in his chest. The last thing you wanted was for Pete to go and talk to your father. It would just make things worse for you.

Frank stopped, looking at you incredulously. He closed his eyes and sighed, offering for you to warm up in his apartment until later. You were hesitant. You weren’t quite afraid of Pete—not like you were of your father—but you couldn’t help but shy away from his dominating personality.

While you warmed up, he’d made you coffee, prompting you to tell him everything. He’d asked how long this had been going on, why you didn’t move away, why you didn’t tell anyone about it, why you would defend him. He didn’t understand why you had this timid attitude toward the situation if you knew it was wrong, and it drove him even crazier that you’d said you wanted him to turn a blind eye to the whole situation.

Frank couldn’t do that. It wasn’t who he was. He didn’t have it in him to sit back and let someone get hurt over and over again. He waited until you fell asleep on his couch, covered in a blanket he’d offered before he went upstairs to confront Jim.

The next morning you woke up on Frank’s couch. He was asleep in the bedroom. Quietly, you folded the blankets neatly, washed your mug, and placed it back in the cabinet where you saw Pete grab it from last night.

You were anxious when you took the elevator up to the next floor. You hoped your father would have had time to calm down, and that he’d be willing to let you in. You didn’t want to have to depend on Pete again.

You reached a shaking hand up to knock on the door; it swung open softly as you tapped. You stepped in, and the place was neater than it had been when you left. You called out for your father, but there was no answer. Further inspection told you that he wasn’t in the apartment at all. 

You let yourself relax, walking back out into the kitchen to make yourself breakfast. You saw a note hanging from a magnet on the refrigerator written in your father’s handwriting. It said that he’d left during the night and that you’d never see him again. He’s left the information for all of the tenants and everything you’d need to get into his accounts.

You squeezed the note in your fist, heading back down to Pete’s apartment. Before you could knock on the door, he opened it, already heading out for work probably.

“Did you do this?” you asked, holding up the note.

He seemed to be battling himself for a moment, his jaw clenching a few times before saying “Yeah.”

“Did you kill him?” you whispered, eyes brimming with tears. Yes, he was your abuser. Yes, you wanted him to stop. Yes, you were certain that he never would. Despite all that, you never wished for him to die.

“You won’t see him again.” Frank zipped up his jacket and pushed past you to leave.

“Thank you,” you said too quietly for him to hear as he walked down the hall, the note from your father still clutched in your fist.


End file.
